


the dreamland, amber and gold

by deathsweetqueen



Series: Tony Stark Bingo 2019: Round 2 [8]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Asgardian Tony Stark, Asgardian Tony is a Blacksmith, Established Relationship, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Sexual Content, Sif and Tony are Siblings, Thor AU, betrothals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 19:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18971548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathsweetqueen/pseuds/deathsweetqueen
Summary: “Anthony?”Anthony looks up from the sword he was cleaning painstakingly.“What?” he demands.Thor stands in the doorway to his forge, hip cocked outwards, cape red as blood glinting in the low light, as his large arms fold across his chest, running a thumb over his lower lip.His eyes pass over Anthony’s bare chest, dark beneath his pale eyelashes.Anthony bites back a sigh; he gives the sword a mournful look – it is very unlikely that he will be able to return to his work that night.“I have missed you, my love.”Written for the "Tony in workshop" square (T3) for the Tony Stark Bingo 2019 and the "bitter ending" square for the Marvel Rare Pair Bingo 2019.





	the dreamland, amber and gold

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Tony Stark Bingo and Marvel Rare Pair Bingo 2019.
> 
> Warnings: some sexual content, not explicit just implied. 
> 
> The title comes from this poem on Wordpress: https://prone2strayvibes.wordpress.com/2016/11/19/2231/

“Anthony?”

Anthony looks up from the sword he was cleaning painstakingly.

“What?” he demands.

Thor stands in the doorway to his forge, hip cocked outwards, cape red as blood glinting in the low light, as his large arms fold across his chest, running a thumb over his lower lip.

His eyes pass over Anthony’s bare chest, dark beneath his pale eyelashes.

Anthony bites back a sigh; he gives the sword a mournful look – it is very unlikely that he will be able to return to his work that night.

“I have missed you, my love.”

Anthony snorts. “I am sure you have. But that quest you went on kept you busy, I am sure.”

Something loosens in his ribcage, perhaps in relief, when those large arms of his lover wrap around him like vises.

“No quest compares to you,” Thor rumbles in his ear.

Anthony chuckles, warmly, patting where Thor’s hands link over his abdomen. “Fear not, prince, I am already bedding you. You need not pay court to me to find me willing.”

Thor trails the tip of his finger across the nape of Anthony’s neck. “Is that all you think I want from you?” he asks, solemnly. “Your body?”

Anthony shakes his head. “You come to me for two things, my love,” he says, almost wearily. “Either to fuck me, or to make you something in my forge. Which will it be today?”

“Anthony,” Thor says, almost hurt, with his big bilgesnipe pup eyes.

Anthony shakes his head – he is in no mood for one of Thor’s momentary realisations that there are other people that exist in this world but for him.

“Do you truly see me so uncaring, beloved? You think I come to you to take my pleasure and want you for little else beyond that?” Thor demands, a pinched, thin look to his eyes.

“Perhaps, my mind as well. But yes, my body,” Anthony says, but with no heat now, more of a tease than anything else.

“You malign me, beloved,” Thor complains, nuzzling at his throat. “I want from you everything you have to give: your mind, your body, your heart. All of it is mine.”

“Greedy,” Anthony laughs.

“I am a prince.” Thor shrugs. “‘Tis my right to be greedy.”

“As well as a peacock, I am sure,” Anthony mutters under his breath.

“What did you say, my love?” Thor asks, curiously.

Anthony turns in his embrace. “Nothing at all,” he says, cheerfully.

Thor’s face lights up, seeing the brown of his eyes, and runs a thumb over his cheekbone. “While I do love everything about you, your body is what leads me astray in this moment, I fear, beloved.”

Anthony sighs. “I should have known.” He folds his arms across his chest, narrowing his eyes. “Well, am I allowed the dignity of your bed, or will you have me right here on this table.”

Thor chuckles and leans in. “Will you last until I get you to my bedchamber once I put my hand between your legs?” he drawls, a lascivious look to his eyes.

Anthony sighs, hiding the spike of hot desire. “We shall have to see.”

He finds himself lifted onto the table, as Thor’s hands pull his breeches from his legs and part his thighs.

“Methinks you have been panting for this, prince,” Anthony laughs, breathlessly, breaking off into a moan when Thor slips two thick fingers, slick with oil, up inside him.

“I have,” Thor says, roughly, unlacing his own breeches, a hint of a thatch of blonde curls at his thigh peeking through the leather

The laces part, and Anthony sees his cock, big and curving against his belly, flushed and weeping with pre-come. Anthony sighs, tipping his head back, his arousal flaring.

“Come, prince,” Anthony murmurs, soft and pleading, urging him close. “Come inside me. I have gone too long without you inside me.”

With a groan, Thor falls on top of him, and Anthony knows nothing more than the heat of him.

* * *

Anthony watches from beside Loki and Queen Frigga, in the midst of pin-drop silence, as the entirety of the hall stares in the direction of the doors to the hall, waiting for their prince (soon to be king, in truth) to enter.

“Where is he?” Anthony hisses at Loki.

Loki pats him on the arm, a show of comfort between the two friends. “He said he’d be along,” he says, vaguely.

Anthony narrows his eyes. “Your brother,” he shakes his head. “Your brother is an idiot.”

Loki looks at him, surprised. “He is your beloved.”

“He is. I love him greatly, I do, and I will be a most happy husband, but my love is a fool.” Anthony squeezes Loki’s arm. “Be of cheer, Loki. All will be well.” He pauses. “I am sorry, you know.”

“Some princes don’t become kings, Anthony,” Loki tells him, sadly, almost sullen and sharp.

Anthony bites his lip. It’s not the first time he’s thought Loki would be a better king than Thor – he is fair, where Thor is intolerant; he is calm, where Thor is like fire; he is clever, where Thor is blunt.

But Odin had made his choice and had wanted Thor for his throne and crown, so what would Anthony’s words do but sour this day even further for Loki.

He wouldn’t have discord between the brothers, these two men that Anthony loved like nothing else, if he could help it.

“He told me to pass his words onto you,” Loki says, gently, a strange flush to his pale skin.

“Oh?”

“He says he hopes you will join him in his chambers tonight, for you will go to bed with a king,” Loki says, awkwardly.

Anthony makes a disgusted sound. “He shames me.”

“He loves you,” Loki corrects.

“Must you pass his foolish missives,” Anthony complains. “Surely your time could be better spent with something else.”

“He means well,” Loki soothes. “And I’ve been doing it since the two of you were green boys and newly betrothed.”

“He’s a child,” Anthony scoffs. “And when the Queen came to me, I should have run off to Vanaheim.”

“You would not have made it to Heimdall,” Loki says, confidently. “Thor would not have allowed it.”

“Because he thinks he owns me.”

“Because Thor thinks he owns everything,” Loki points out. “It does not mean he loves you less. He just loves you differently.”

Anthony sighs and reaches for Loki’s arm, threading his arm through the prince’s. “Tonight, tonight, we will drink, Loki.”

Loki’s brow furrows, but he nods nonetheless. “But what about Thor?”

“The _king_ will have to make do with his hand until I stumble into his bedchamber,” Anthony snorts. “I am sure he will endure it.”

Loki chuckles. “Very well, tonight, we will drink.”

Fandral grimaces behind them. “If he doesn't show up soon, he shouldn't bother,” he declares. “Odin looks like he's ready to feed him to his ravens.”

Just as Fandral says, when Anthony chances a look at the dais, Odin’s jaw is set in stone, his brow furrowed in disapproval as he stares down at the empty path from the doors up to the throne.

“That does not bode well,” Anthony mutters.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Loki hums. “Father will forgive him. He always does.”

Just then, at the back of the throne room, there’s a raucous sound from the doors and Thor saunters inside, Mjolnir roaring up into the hall and Thor smoothly catching it behind his back. The sight fills their guests with such a strange rush that they erupt into cheers. Thor spins his hammer in a flourish, basking in his glory, in their admiration, and throws his arms out, turning in a slow circle.

Anthony rolls his eyes. “I hope he trips on it,” he grumbles.

Odin continues to look displeased.

Thor finishes with his little show, striding up the passage to the dais, and kneels on one knee in front of his father and mother. When he glances Anthony staring at him, solemnly, he gives him a little wink to be cheeky, but all Anthony does is return with a single raised eyebrow – Thor’s grin grows; he’s always loved the challenge, and Anthony has always refused to make it easy.

Odin slams Gungnir onto the ground with a deafening sound that makes Anthony’s bones rattle inside his body.

The crowd falls silent, staring up at their king with fear, with awe.

“Gungnir,” he begins, quietly. “Its aim is true, its power strong. With it, I have defended Asgard and the lives of the innocent across the Nine Realms since the time of the Great Beginning. And though the day has come for a new King to wield his own weapon, that duty remains the same. Thor Odinson, my heir, my first-born. So long entrusted with this mighty hammer, Mjolnir. Forged in the heart of a dying star, from the sacred metal of Uru. Only one may lift it. Only one is worthy, who wields this hammer commands the lightning and the storm. Its power has no equal, as a weapon, to destroy, or as a tool, to build. It is a fit companion for a King.”

Thor beams, smugly.

“Today, I entrust you with the greatest honour in all the Nine Realms. The sacred throne of Asgard. I have sacrificed much to achieve peace. So, too, must a new generation sacrifice to maintain that peace. Responsibility, duty, honour. These are not merely virtues to which we must aspire. They are essential to every soldier and to every King.”

Beside Anthony, Frigga takes a hold of his wrist and squeezes.

Anthony inhales.

His life will change after this moment.

The muscle ripples underneath his skin, a sudden cold sheet of sweat clinging to his skin, like dew after dawn. Behind him, he sees the Warriors Three start to shiver and rub their limbs for warmth as the air hangs like ice in the great hall.

Thor faces his father with undisguised warmth, eyes as big and round as the moon itself, while Odin looks on him with pride.

For a moment, something in Anthony melts honey – this is the Thor he loves, he would bind himself to, he would make a family with, not the blowhard that struts around Asgard’s streets with his head held up high above everyone else.

“Thor Odinson, do you swear to guard the Nine Realms?”

“I swear.” Thor’s voice booms through the hall.

“Do you swear to preserve the peace?”

“I swear.”

“Do you swear to cast aside all selfish ambition and pledge yourself only to the good of all the Realms?”

 _That may be difficult_ , Anthony thinks, amused.

“I swear.”

“Then on this day, I, Odin Allfather, proclaim you-”

Odin stills, his eyes skyward, gazing at one of the large cloth banners, threaded with silk and gold, where ice creeps across, making an eerie cracking sound. Anthony startles, and beside him, Loki hisses.

Thor’s eyes follow his father’s.

“Frost giants...” Odin mutters.

Anthony’s hand goes to the sword strapped to his back, catching the sounds of a battle in the depths of the palace below. Sif and the Warriors Three join Anthony in his caution, as Thor jumps to his feet and races from the hall.

Anthony rushes off after him, joined by Loki and Sif and the Warriors Three. When he enters the cavern, he almost collides with Thor’s broad back, who  stares shocked at the sight before him.

Ice is strewn about the floor, melting quickly into water. No bodies remain, but the whatever is left of the Frost Giants is smoking and contorted on the floor.

Anthony eyes it with disgust.

In front of them, the Destroyer stands, holding the Casket of Ancient Winters out towards Odin.

“The Destroyer,” Sif breathes.

Volstagg shakes his head. “I thought it was but a legend,” he says, awed.

Anthony snorts. “Hardly, considering I forged it,” he says, slyly.

Thor gives him a stunned look, to which he cocks a brow. _My darling, you underestimate me._

Sif merely raises an eyebrow, to which he meets her stare, careful and weighty.

“What, didn’t think me capable, little sister?” he teases.

Sif rolls her eyes.

Odin steps in behind the Asgardians, as the Destroyer sets the Casket back onto its pedestal. It moves back to its post, with a single nod for Anthony, its maker, the faint fire in its eyes extinguishing within.

Fandral eyes the Vault with unease. “I've never been inside the Vault before. It's said the Tesseract was once held here.”

“It was,” Anthony says, simply. “No more, though. Midgard has it now.”

Fandral scowls at him, ever intemperate. “How do you know all of this?”

Anthony stares at him through his eyelashes. “I do good work in my forge. It makes me indispensable.”

“The Tesseract, though? I thought that was but a legend too!” Volstagg exclaims.

Sif glowers at him. “Shush!”

Odin surveys the destruction with narrowed eyes.

“The Jotuns must pay for what they've done!” Thor declares.

Anthony rolls his eyes, flickering an exasperated look over to Loki. _Here we go again._

Loki gives him a commiserating glance and pats him on the arm.

He exhales.

Odin shakes his head. “They have paid with their lives. The Destroyer did its job, and the Casket is safe. All is well.”

Thor scowls like a thunderstorm. “ _All is well_?” he echoes, angrily. “They broke into the Weapons Vault! If the Frost Giants had stolen even one of these relics-”

“But they didn’t,” Odin cuts off, sharply.

“I want to know why they-”

“The Casket of Ancient Winters belonged to the Jotuns. They believe it's their birthright.”

“And if you hadn't taken it from them, they would have laid waste to all the Nine Realms!”

Odin shakes his head. “I have a truce with Laufey, the Jotun King.”

Thor throws his hands up in the air. “He just broke your truce! We must act!”

Odin turns to Sif and the Warriors Three. “Leave us.”

Thor’s comrades exit, leaving Odin alone with Thor, Anthony and Loki. Anthony moves to leave.

“No,” Odin says, halting Anthony’s steps. “You will be part of this family soon.”

Anthony inclines his head and moves over to the shadows with Loki, as Odin eyes Thor.

“And what action would you take?” Odin queries.

Thor folds his giant arms over his chest. “March into Jotunheim as you once did, teach them a lesson, break their spirits so they'll never dare try to cross our borders again!”

“Your beloved husband to be,” Loki mutters under his breath. “Our gracious king to be.”

“Asgard trembles in fright,” Anthony jokes.

Odin glowers at his firstborn. “You're thinking only as a warrior!” he chides.

Thor looks at him, incredulously. “This was an act of war!”

“It was the act of but a few, doomed to fail.”

“They got this far!” Thor points out.

“We will find the breach in our defences. It will be found, and it will be sealed.”

Thor reels up in offence. “As King of Asgard, I would-” he begins, loudly and furiously and pink-faced.

“You are _not_ King, not yet!” Odin thunders and Anthony sucks in a breath, his lungs rattling in his chest with dread, eyes cast down low.

Thor cringes away, himself, seeing in his father’s face that he’s pushed this topic as far as Odin will allow. He huffs like he’s about to throw a tantrum and storms away, pushing through the doors so hard that they shake the foundation around them. Anthony and Loki quickly exchange a look and follow him in a flurry, in a vain attempt to head him off before he does something stupid.

* * *

With a mighty shout, Thor reaches and upends one of the massive table onto its side, sending all the food that was piled there skating across the floor.

Anthony sighs and hands Loki his flagon of ale.

The Warriors Three enter with Sif, and Volstagg, upon sight of the mess, gasps with shock.

“Redecorating, are we?” Sif says, dryly. “Give me some of that ale, Anthony.”

Anthony gladly hands her a flagon for herself.

“I told you they'd cancel it,” Hogun mutters.

Fandral gives him a simpering look. “We thought that was just you being your normal cheery self,” he says, sarcastically.

Volstagg looks about the floor, absolutely despairing. “All this food, so innocent, cast to the ground. It breaks the heart!”

Thor flings his arms from the table and storms away to the far end of the hall, and Anthony follows with a bedraggled sigh. Thor shrugs off the hand that Anthony places on his shoulder.

“It is unwise to be in my company right now, my love,” Thor says, lowly. “I would only treat you ill.”

“Who said I was wise?” Anthony murmurs, laying his chin next on Thor’s shoulder, deft fingers working their way into Thor’s golden hair.

“This was to be my day of triumph,” Thor grumbles.

“It will come,” Loki chimes in, approaching them warily. “In time.” His mouth thins, as he looks away. “If it's any consolation, I think you're right. About the Frost Giants, about Laufey, everything.”

Anthony shoots him a warning look, but Loki ignores him.

“If a few of them could penetrate the defences of Asgard once, who's to say they won't try again. Next time, with an army?”

Thor rounds on him with glee, with satisfaction. “Yes, exactly!”

Anthony leans towards the leaner brother. “You aren’t helping,” he hisses.

Loki ignores him once more. “But there's nothing we can do without defying Father.”

Thor mulls it over, gaze drawn to his hammer, a wicked gleam in his eye. Anthony and Loki come to the same conclusion at the exact time, and Loki, for what it’s worth, grows concerned.

“No... stop there!” he warns. “I know that look!”

“It’s a little late for you to see sense,” Anthony snaps.

“It’s the only way to ensure the safety of our borders,” Thor urges Anthony.

“It’s madness,” Anthony grits out. “And treason.”

“Madness?” Volstagg perks up. “What sort of madness?”

“Don’t,” Anthony flings at him, wroth.

“It’s nothing,” Loki says, quickly. “Thor was making a jest.”

Thor’s look is vicious. “The safety of our Realm is no jest. We're going to Jotunheim.”

* * *

They go to Jotunheim, against Anthony’s many protests and Loki’s many urgings, and they are presented to Laufey, King of Jotunheim, seated in the shadows of the temple.

“I am Laufey,” he rumbles. “King of this Realm.”

“And I am-” Thor begins, pertly.

Laufey cuts him off with a rough sound. “We know who you are, Odinson. Why have you brought the stench of your blood into my world?”

Thor palms the hilt of his hammer. “I demand answers.”

Laufey stands, sizing up Thor with his beady, dark eyes, trying to piece him together.

“You _demand_?”

Thor grits his teeth. “How did your people get into Asgard?”

Laufey’s teeth bare in offence. “The house of Odin is full of traitors.”

Anthony tenses, flinging an awful look at Loki, who looks like stone, behind Thor.

Thor’s expression sours. “Do not dishonour my father's name with your lies.”

Laufey lunges forward, just enough to have Thor’s and Anthony’s and Loki’s hackles rising. “Your father is a murderer and a thief. He stole what was ours, and left our world in ruins. We have the right to reclaim the Casket,” he snarls.

Thor gifts him with a sharp look. “Not when you'd use it to make war against other Realms.”

Laufey laughs, cold and mocking. “And why have you come here? To make peace? You long for battle. You crave it. I see you for what you are, Thor Odinson. Nothing but a boy, trying to prove himself a man.”

Thor’s fists clench. “This boy has grown tired of your mockery.”

Thor takes a step forward towards Laufey. The other Jotuns, sensing a threat to their king, step in front of Thor, blocking his path, all terrifying and tall and skin as dark as frost.

Loki grips Thor’s arm. “Thor, stop and think. Look around you. We are outnumbered,” he warns.

Thor stares daggers down at him. “Know your place, brother…”

Loki grimaces and takes a step back.

Laufey eyes the brothers, carefully. “You should listen to his counsel. You know not what your actions would unleash.” He steps out of the shadows. “But I do. Go now, while I still allow it.”

Thor bristles.

Loki takes a step forward. “We will accept your most gracious offer.”

“Come, my love,” Anthony soothes his betrothed. “Let us leave.”

Sif and the Warriors Three look at Thor, imploringly. Thor stares Laufey down for a moment, before relenting and turning to leave. Anthony chokes down the relief and joins him, threading their fingers together, their comrades following.

“Run back home, little princess,” a Jotun grunts.

Thor stills; Loki goes white; Anthony hisses.

“Damn,” Loki mutters.

“Thor,” Anthony warns, just before Thor swings Mjolnir and knocks the Jotun clear across the plaza. “Fuck!”

He draws his sword, twirls in the hilt in his palm, and slices the Frost Giant that comes at him in half with a vicious blow. The battle is furious and it’s long, but the Frost Giants have magic here, which threatens to fell them, and they run. The Frost Giants move in for the kill, and Anthony reels back, sword aloft and ready to fight, but a hole opens up in the dismal sky and the Bifrost unleashes its maelstrom.

In its light, Odin emerges on Sleipnir, clad in golden armour, Gungnir in his hand, a sight that steals the air from Anthony’s lungs.

The Frost Giants hiss and back away.

“Father!” Thor cries out in glee. “We’ll destroy them together.”

Odin gives Thor a hateful, venomous look. “Silence!”

Laufey slams his fists into the ground and the ice beneath his feet raises him towards Odin. For a second, Anthony clenches his hand around his sword, thinking it was an attack, but Laufey just peers at Odin, eyes shadow black and ominous.

“Laufey, end this,” Odin urges.

Laufey narrows his eyes. “Your boy sought this out.”

“You’re right,” Odin concedes. “These are the actions of a boy. Treat them as such. You and I can stop this before there's further bloodshed.”

“We are beyond diplomacy now, Allfather. He'll get what he came for, war and death.”

Odin takes a deep breath, his face setting like stone. “So be it,” he declares.

Without warning, Laufey swings a blade made of ice at Odin, who brings his spear down onto the ice, shattering it onto the ground. Laufey and the closest Jotuns go falling backwards, and the Asgardians cringe away from the power that trembles beside them.

Odin raises his spear; the hole in the sky opens and the Bifrost swallows all of them up into its whirlpool. Anthony grunts when he lands on the floor of Heimdall’s observatory, his head splitting open. He presses the heels of his palms right into his eyes, where it aches, and when he pulls them away, Loki looms over him, with a hand outstretched. Anthony stares up at him, gratefully, and takes it, Loki’s lean strength pulling him to his feet, just as Thor accosts Odin.

“Why did you bring us back?” Thor demands.

Odin rounds on him, white as milk with fury. “Do you realise what you’ve done? What you’ve started?”

Thor stares at him, balefully. “I was protecting my home,” he insists.

Odin shakes his head. “You cannot protect your friends; you cannot protect your betrothed.” He eyes the jagged cut marking Anthony’s stomach, just under his ribs, the gift from a Frost Giant’s ice blade, with a withering look.

To his grace, Thor looks shamefaced.

“How can you hope to protect a kingdom?” Odin flings his eyes to the Warriors Two and Sif, who hug Fandral close to them, bleeding as he does. “Get him to the healing room!”

Sif, Volstagg and Hogun scamper away, throwing Fandral over his shoulders.

“There won’t be a kingdom to protect if you’re afraid to act!” Thor growls, his blood running hot. “Whatever the cost, the world must know that the new King of Asgard will not be held in contempt.”

Odin shakes his head, disgusted. “That's pride and vanity that talks! Not leadership! Have you forgotten everything I've taught you? What of a warrior's patience, cunning?”

Thor scowls. “While you wait and be patient, the Nine Realms laugh at us!” he snaps. “The old ways are done. You'd stand giving speeches while Asgard falls!”

Odin looks like he’d very much like to smack Thor’s sulking face. “You're a vain, greedy, cruel boy!”

“And you are an old man and a fool!” Thor shouts.

Anthony and Loki gape at Thor for his foolish words, while Odin falls silent, staring at Thor until he drops his eyes.

“A fool, yes,” Odin says, solemnly, resigned. “I was a fool to think you were ready.”

Loki takes a step forward, his hands outstretched imploringly. “Father…”

Odin quells him with a single glower.

Loki slinks back to Anthony’s side.

“Thor Odinson...” Odin begins, low and grand. “You have disobeyed the express command of your King. Through your arrogance and stupidity, you have opened these peaceful Realms and innocent lives to the horrors of war.”

The Allfather plunges his spear into the control panel, and the Bifrost opens with a loud noise.

“You are unworthy of this Realm...”

Odin rips one of the discs off Thor’s chest, much to his son’s disbelief and hurt.

“...unworthy of your title...”

He tears off Thor’s cloak.

Anthony’s stomach curdles, and before he knows what he’s doing, he lunges forward to aid his betrothed, hands outstretched.

“No, wait, my king!”

Odin pays no need to him, but Loki reaches for him, wraps his thin arms around his waist and pulls Anthony to his chest.

“Don’t interfere,” Loki hisses in Anthony’s ear. “His wrath will turn on you, next.”

Anthony’s eyes are over-bright when they look at Loki. “I can’t just let him… _it’s Thor_ , Loki,” he insists, thickly.

Loki softens. “I know, I know.”

“...unworthy of the loved ones you’ve betrayed. I hereby take from you your powers.”

Odin throws out his hand and Mjolnir flies into his palm.

“In the name of my father...”

The right arm of Thor’s armour splinters away from his body.

“...and of his father before...”

The rest of Thor’s armour turns into dust.

“I cast you out!”

The raw, hot swell of dread cripples him.

“No!” he shouts, struggling against Loki’s stone grip, abandoning all dignity.

Odin thrusts Mjolnir before him and with a crack of thunder, Thor is sent flying into the open Bifrost and disappears into its light. Odin stares at the hammer in his hand and closes his eyes, pressing his mouth to the edge, muttering something that rips across the metal in hot, clean runes.

The runes linger but for a moment, then disappear. Suddenly, Odin turns and hurls the hammer into the Bifrost.

Anthony sinks to his knees, Loki cradling him.

“No, no, _no_!” he sobs, emptily.

Odin leaves the two of them grieving there on the ground.

* * *

Loki finds him in his workshop, seated at a table, a knife in hand as he carves in the runes into the iron with precision.

“The servants tell me you do not eat,” Loki begins, awkwardly.

Companionship does not come easily to Loki, but for Anthony, he tries; he has always tried, and Anthony does love him for it.

Anthony exhales. “I shan’t until Thor returns,” he says, pertly.

Loki sighs. “Anthony.”

“Don’t,” Anthony warns.

“Father won’t allow him home; it would be foolish to starve yourself for something that could take millennia,” Loki says, urgently. “Please, Anthony. Eat. Thor would not want you to hurt yourself.”

“Thor won’t know, because when he comes back, I’ll be eating again.”

Loki lowers his voice. “Mother is worried.”

“And I am sorry for that; you know I have nothing but love for Queen Frigga, but I stand by my decision,” Anthony says, firmly.

“Anthony,” Loki comes to sit beside Anthony at his workstation. “Odin has taken to his bed. It’s the Odinsleep.”

That gives him pause. “I’m sorry,” he says, miserably, reaching out to squeeze Loki’s wrist. “You’ve lost a brother and your father in the span of days at most, and here I am sobbing over the loss of a bedmate.”

“Ah, but he’s not just a bedmate, is he?” Loki says, knowingly.

Anthony finds himself smiling. “Don’t start with me.”

“But you make it so easy,” Loki teases.

“You will come to me, won’t you? If you need to?” Anthony asks, worriedly.

Loki’s thin fingers grip his shoulder. “Of course. Who else would I go to?” he asks, solemnly.

“You’re King of Asgard now,” Anthony murmurs.

Loki tenses. “I know I am not the king you want-”

Anthony frowns, eyes darting towards him. “Whoever said that?”

Loki looks uneasy. “Thor-”

“-is not here,” Anthony says, gently. “I love him, I do, but he’s not here and a lot of that is his own fault, Odin’s poor choices withstanding.”

“You’re not going to ask me-”

“-to bring Thor back. It’s on the tip of my tongue, I will admit, but your fool brother did foolish things and was banished for it, no matter my personal opinions.” He hesitates, his hands shaking a little over the sword. “Loki, I don’t want to put you in that position. I just… I would urge you to remember that he is your brother.”

“I know that,” Loki whispers.

“And you are not like Odin or Thor; you’re much smarter,” Anthony mutters. “I know you’ll do the right thing.”

“You’re glad I like you,” Loki huffs. “Anyone else and that would be approaching treason.”

“Well, you’ll protect me, won’t you?” Anthony says, absentmindedly, as he picks up the knife.

He misses the strange gleam in Loki’s green eyes, but smiles when Loki’s hand pats him on the shoulder.

“Yes, Anthony, I’ll protect you,” he says, quietly.

* * *

“Anthony, Anthony! Brother, we need to talk to you!”

Anthony sighs and his knife clatters to the table.

“I am so popular today.” Anthony rounds on his new visitor. “What is it? I have work to do,” he says, crossly.

Sif reels back. “I haven’t even said anything to you, and you’re already angry,” she complains.

Anthony lifts an eyebrow. “Anything that involves you, little sister, is not good; in fact, it may mean my death. I am in no such rush.”

Sif shoots him a baleful look. “It’s Loki. You need to talk to him-”

“-about Thor? Loki and I have already had this conversation, and I won’t broach it with him again.”

Sif looks at him like he decided to mate with a bilgesnipe. “You can’t mean that. Thor… Thor is your betrothed, your lover. You can’t mean to strand him on Midgard with the humans.”

“Thor did something stupid that may have sunk us into war. I grieve for his absence, I do, but perhaps his exile will be good for him, perhaps he will gain perspective. Now, leave me be, I’m busy.”

Sif grips his shoulder and forcibly turns him around to face her. “Do you remember what Laufey said?” she asks, her voice low. “There are traitors in the house of Odin, he said.”

Anthony’s brow knits together. “Yes, I heard him. What do you-” he blinks in realisation. “Oh, by the Norns, you must be japing. You can’t mean to suggest that _Loki_ was the traitor?”

“He’s always been jealous of Thor,” she says, quietly.

“And you’ve always disliked Loki,” he points out. “You’re hardly objective here.”

“And you’re a fool if you keep trusting him,” Sif seethes.

 _Who gains the most from Thor’s exile_? a traitorous voice whispers in his head, like a mother croons to her child. _If Loki loved him so, why would he not bring him home? If Loki loved you so, why would he not set aside Odin’s command?_

No, he is no faithless friend. He won’t doubt Loki on Sif’s word.

Anthony grits his teeth. “We are on the brink of war with Jotunheim. We cannot risk a civil war in these times. I know you’re not happy about Loki ascending to the throne over Thor, but he is the only king we have right now. Do you want Asgard to be in ruins when the Jotuns invade and kill us all?”

Sif places a hand on Anthony’s shoulder, her face cast soft. “And if Thor needs us?” she asks.

Anthony rubs his hand over his face, remembers the last time Thor had wrapped his broad arms around him and bore him down onto the table, an impossible, dangerous look in his eyes like Thor couldn’t _breathe_ without him.

“Does he?” he asks, roughly.

* * *

Anthony hates it, _hates_ what he’s doing, behind Frigga’s back, behind Loki’s back, his greatest friend, long before Thor deigned to look at him as more than his brother’s blacksmith friend.

But he can’t deny the nervous patter of his heart as he approaches the healing room, where he hears the raucous, squelching sounds of Volstagg feasting on a plate of food.

His hands wring together.

He lingers in the doorway, just as they realise he’s come to them.

“Anthony,” Fandral murmurs, eyes blinking in surprise.

He clears his throat. “I’m considering that you might not have been so mad with your suspicions.”

Sif’s jaw clenches. “And why now?”

Anthony looks away. “I’m not… unaware of what Loki is, what he can do and what he would do,” he says, awkwardly. He looks away. “He’s my friend.”

Sif takes a step forward. “Thor’s _our_ friend.”

“And my betrothed,” Anthony snaps and then, sighs. “I understand, Sif. I do. I…” he flushes. “I can’t breathe without him, without Thor. Don’t think me unfeeling or unloving.”

“But Loki is your friend,” Sif finishes for him, sadly, and squeezes his hand.

His brave sister, a greater warrior than he will ever be – he’s never been prouder of her.

“My oldest and greatest friend,” Anthony corrects, sternly, fiercely. “I don’t want to believe it, and I’m not quite sure I do, but I know you’re going to find Thor, and I’ll join you.” He lifts his chin, defiantly. “I want no part in your war with Loki. I just want to see Thor again.”

Fandral shakes his head. “It’s treason,” he argues.

Volstagg snorts. “To hell with treason, it's suicide.” His eyes go as big and round as the moon. “Now, shh! Heimdall may be watching! It's said he can hear-”

Fandral rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, we know!”

Sif exchanges a solid, steady look with Anthony. “Thor would do the same for us,” she says, quietly.

Anthony agrees.

Thor _would_ do the same for them.

A guard walks in. Anthony’s hand goes to the hilt of his sword, more out of bare, bloody instinct than anything else.

“Heimdall demands your presence,” the guard says, solemnly.

Volstagg drains his flagon of ale. “We’re doomed,” he mutters.

* * *

Anthony and Sif enter the Observatory, followed by the Warriors Three, only to find Heimdall, intimidating and silent as always, standing in front of the Observatory's controls. He glares at them accusingly.

Volstagg tries first. “Good Heimdall, let us explain-”

Heimdall cuts him off. “You would defy the commands of Loki, our King, break every oath you have taken as warriors, and commit treason to bring Thor back?” he demands.

Anthony meets his gaze, steadily. “Yes.”

Heimdall’s mouth flickers slightly. “Good.”

Anthony exhales in relief.

Volstagg takes a step forward. “So, you'll help us?”

Heimdall grimaces. “I am bound by honour to our King. I cannot open the Bifrost to you.”

With that, he leaves them alone in the Observatory. Anthony turns around to face the other four, with equal, puzzled looks.

“Complicated fellow, isn't he?” Fandral says, dryly.

Anthony raises an eyebrow. “He means for us to go alone.” He gestures broadly to Heimdall’s greatsword sunk deep into the controls for the Bifrost.

Sif’s eyes dawn with realisation and her smile grows teeth.

* * *

They land on sand with all the fury of a storm, clambering to their feet as the Bifrost recedes into the pale sky above, the runes etched into the ground like ash. Anthony kneels, touching the runes that mark their arrival, and the ones long burnt into the ground, older and bigger and more vengeful.

“He must be close,” Anthony murmurs.

Volstagg sighs, stretching. “It's time to put our tracking skills to work. Spread out. Check the sand for indentations of his boot prints.”

“The winds would have blown them away by now,” Fandral points out. “We should look for signs of a campfire.”

“Or we could just start there,” Sif says, simply, pointing off into the distance as the shadow of some town looms into view.

Anthony sighs and marches off in the town’s direction, clapping Sif’s armoured shoulder. “This is why you’re the smart one.”

“It’s worth a look, I suppose,” Fandral mutters under his breath, as the four start to tromp towards the town.

* * *

“I don’t think we’ve dressed for the occasion,” Anthony comments, dryly, unsettled by the stares of the townsfolk, as they stroll down the street.

He stares at his armour, maroon, almost black, like dried blood, and thinks, _yes, I am not dressed for Midgard._

He hears the creak of metal behind him and turns to find Volstagg lifting some great metal beast high in the air, with a single hand, while a small boy crawls under to receive a white ball.

“There you go, lad!”

The boy just stares, immobilised, while Volstagg lowers the beast, and the Asgardians head onwards.

“Is it just me, or does Earth look a little different to you?”

“It has been a thousand years,” Sif points out.

Volstagg shakes his head, mournfully. “Things change so fast here. You leave for a millennium, and it's like the whole neighbourhood's gone.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “How will we ever find him?”

Anthony has his eyes set on an inn-like establishment a few paces away, the hint of honey-gold gleaming through the glass. He laughs, almost helplessly, something twisting, warm and sweet, in his chest.

“We already have,” he whispers.

He scampers off ahead, unknowing, uninterested even, if the others follow him, and when he pushes open the door to this sunlit tavern, a bell chiming harshly above his head, Thor stirs from his seat, his eyes over-bright as they rake over Anthony standing in the doorway, staring at him like a sunflower stares at the sun.

He stands with much clamour, Anthony’s betrothed, and his companions blink at him with baffled alarm. But Thor grins, showing all of his teeth, and crosses the space in a matter of moments, sweeping Anthony up into his broad arms and clutching at him like he’d pull Anthony inside his chest and hold him next to his red, beating, bloody heart if he could.

“Anthony,” Thor rumbles and kisses him, hard and careless. “Anthony, you came to me.”

Anthony smiles, feline and contented, and touches Thor’s jaw, over his golden beard. “I can’t bear to live in a place that you cannot.”

Thor laughs like a landslide, his warm, heavy palm curling around Anthony’s nape. Anthony leans into the touch.

Nothing matters, nothing matters in this moment, not Loki, not Odin, not Jotunheim, just him and Thor.

“Don’t ever leave me again, beloved. I could not bear it,” Thor whispers, mouth pressing against his hairline.

“I won’t, _I won’t_.”

* * *

“So, who are they?” one of the mortal women accompanying Thor asks bluntly.

“Master Anthony, Lady Sif and the Warriors Three,” Volstagg says, grandly. “Surely, you've heard tales of Hogun the Grim, Fandral the Dashing, and I, Volstagg the Svelte?”

The older man in Thor’s company looks pointedly at Volstagg's massive gut.

Anthony decides he quite likes him.

Volstagg laughs, beaming like a boy in love. “Well, perhaps I've put on a little more muscle since I was here last.”

The older brunette woman narrows her eyes, the look in them hungry. “That would have been a thousand years ago? Northern Europe?”

“Exactly! Those lovely herring people. They worshipped us!” Volstagg sighs.

Thor claps Volstagg’s shoulder with the hand that isn’t secured around Anthony’s waist, holding him close, as if he thought Anthony would fade in his arms if he let go.

“My friends, I've never been happier to see anyone. But you should not have come,” he says, solemnly.

Anthony lifts his chin at him. “You’re not happy to see us?” he asks, his eyes cool and sharp.

Thor’s face falls. He touches Anthony’s cheek. “I am never unhappy when I see you,” he says, solemn as the grave.

“We’ve come to take you home,” Fandral insists.

Thor sighs, ducks his head. “You know I can't,” he says, roughly. “My father is  dead because of me. I must remain in exile.”

Anthony’s eyebrows knit together, and he exchanges a baffled look with Sif. Anthony squeezes Thor’s broad arm. “Thor, your father lives,” he says, carefully.

The colour leaches out of Thor’s face. He shakes his head, immediately, his face crumpling in sheer exhaustion and misery.

“No, no, he is dead. He is… he took to his bed after my actions in Jotunheim, and he died in his sleep.”

“Thor, who told you that?” Anthony asks, carefully.

“Loki.”

Anthony grits his teeth and looks away, especially when Sif gives him a look, sharp enough to take out an eye if that was what she wanted.

“What is it?” Thor asks, confused.

“Loki lied to you,” Anthony admits, grudgingly, dragging his hand over his face, the raw, hot swell of betrayal curdling inside him like soured milk.

_Why? Why, why, Loki? Why would you do this?_

Thor’s teeth bare in offence. He is many things, a fool that runs roughshod over everything and anything in his path, reckless and prone to fury and hate, but he loves his brother, and Anthony always loved that about it – because he loved Loki as well, once, more than he loved Thor; now, the lies make everything empty.

“Loki is many things, a trickster, he plays his games, but he is no traitor,” Thor says, coldly.

Anthony shakes his head. “Thor-”

Thor glowers at him. “You, you, of all people, cannot say such things,” he hisses. “Loki is your friend, your dearest friend, your oldest friend. Long before you and I became anything more, it was you and Loki. Where has your faith gone, beloved?”

Anthony gapes at him, insulted. “You think this is easy for me?” he growls out. “You think I have not laboured over this?” His eyes are cool and sharp. “He could have brought you home, once your father took to his bed. He didn’t. He lied to you, Thor! Your father lives. Why would Loki tell you he was dead, why would he _blame_ you for Odin’s death, if not to be cruel?” He scowls. “I have loved Loki longer than I have loved you, Thor. I would not say this lightly.”

Thor stumbles out of the establishment, into the blustery sunlight, his hands shaking.

“What you say, what you mean,” he begins, haltingly. “My brother is no traitor,” he insists.

Anthony steps forward. “I hope against hope that what you say is true,” he says, solemnly, half-sick with rage and hurt, because Loki had so easily made a fool of him, all in the name of friendship. “Thor, I love him too,” he pleads.

Thor crumbles in the face of Anthony’s distress, reaching for him. “He’s my brother.”

“I know, _I know_ , I love him too,” Anthony repeats, huddling against Thor’s broad shoulder. “I love him too.”

He’d sob if he could, but he can’t – the tears don’t come.

There’s a loud clamouring in the distance, like the blooming of a storm, and Thor and Anthony part, staring off into the sky, which parts, dark and viciously, the Bifrost plunging down to the ground, somewhere off in the desert.

The younger human girl blinks. “Was somebody else coming?”

Anthony and Thor exchange a look.

“Only Loki would make such a move now,” Anthony says, pointedly.

Thor makes a hurt little noise deep in his throat.

“He comes to war with me?” he asks, roughly. “Mine own brother?”

Anthony grips his arm. “Thor,” he says, weakly.

They hear the heavy sound of weaponry against whatever enemy Loki has decided to send against them, and Sif hisses, fisting her sword. Thor turns to his human companions.

“Leave this town now,” he urges to the older brunette woman (Jane, Anthony recalls, after a moment). “Get yourself and your friends to safety.”

Jane baulks. “What about you?”

Thor shakes his head, grimly. “I must stay and fight.”

Anthony raises an eyebrow.

Thor flushes. “I’m still a warrior, and I will fight by your side,” he insists.

Volstagg makes a noise of discontent. “You're but a mortal now. You'll get yourself killed!” he points out.

“Or one of us, trying to protect you,” Fandral chimes in.

Sif tries a more diplomatic approach. “The best thing you can do is get the mortals to safety and leave the battle to us,” she says, gently.

Thor looks at the townsfolk around them, all oblivious to what comes for them. He sighs, ducking his head.

“You’re right,” he huffs.

Anthony chokes. “Excuse me?”

Thor gives him a withering look. “You heard me.”

“I did,” Anthony agrees. “I just doubt my hearing,” he says, under his breath.

Thor rolls his eyes and turns to Jane and her companions. “Help me clear the streets. I'll let none of these people die this day,” he swears.

He links his hand with Anthony’s one final time, and clenches around it tight, blue eyes open and clear and unyielding.

 _I love you_ , _I love you as I’ve never loved anything else,_ Anthony thinks and knows Thor would say the same.

When he releases Thor’s hand, he feels that vise of shock-cold grip his ribcage, and kisses Thor, hard and messy, gripping at the strange, thin collar of his tunic.

“I love you,” Thor finally mutters against his mouth. “You will return to me,” he says, with all the confidence of a prince.

Anthony’s mouth twists into a smile – some things never change.

“I will,” Anthony says, easily. “As long as you promise me that you won’t die here, either.”

Thor beams down at him, thumb finding his cheekbone. “Where would I go without you?”

Anthony pulls from him, with the Warriors Three and Sif, and heads across town to face the thing he made to protect them, to protect Asgard, that now Loki uses to kill them all.

The field looks as though Jormungand himself had razed it, left it a smoking crater in the dirt. The metal horses they had spotted on their entrance are all on their side, a smouldering wreck.

The Destroyer strides down the street, each footstep an earthquake, its eyes bleeding red, as it unleashes blasts as it goes, leaving nothing but devastation in its wake.

“Keep him distracted,” Sif says, tersely, making to hurry off.

“Wait,” Anthony says, quickly, stilling her with a hand on her arm.

Sif stares at him, confused. “What is it? We don’t have much time.”

“We don’t,” Anthony agrees. “And none of us need to die here today. Let me go, alone, and speak to Loki.”

Sif shakes her head, immediately, a sentiment which the Warriors Three share.

“Are you mad?” Fandral asks, incredulously. “That thing will turn you to ash before you even open your mouth.”

“I made it,” Anthony says, gently. “And if anyone can destroy it, it shall be me. And I would treat with Loki before we start war.”

“Anthony,” Sif begins, cautiously. “I do not believe he is open to peace. He sent the Destroyer to kill us all.”

“I know.” Anthony’s mouth twists in a wry smile. “But he is my friend, even now, with all his faithlessness. I must speak with him.”

“I’m not abandoning you to him,” Sif says, stubbornly. “None of us are. I would go with you.”

Anthony shakes his head. “If he sees you, he will kill us. He will hesitate with me.” He grips Sif’s hand. “Let me try,” he urges. “If he presses on, you may do whatever you think is necessary.”

Sif’s lips are frowning-thin, but she nods nonetheless, displeased by the plan. Anthony squeezes her hand and moves towards the Destroyer, which stills in the middle of the road, staring him down.

Anthony holds his hands up air in the air.

“Loki,” he soothes. “Let us speak.”

The Destroyer stands down, watching with red eyes.

“Loki, I know not the grief, the fury you must feel. If I have contributed to it, in any way, I can only beg your forgiveness. I only wish you had come to me before undertaking such a grave endeavour. I would have been on your side, as I have always been on your side. I ask you now, as your friend, as your oldest and greatest friend, to stop this. Do not punish the mortals for our failures.”

The Destroyer remains silent.

“Please, Loki, end this, before it becomes a war none of us can stop. Please, Loki, you are no monster. You are no villain. You are better than this. I know this of you. Please, stop this. _Please_.”

The red flees the Destroyer, and Anthony’s heart knocks against his lungs in relief.

His fingers clench and unclench around air.

The Destroyer hangs its head.

Anthony doesn’t see the blow coming, only feels the vicious smack of metal against the side of his face, sending him flying and skidding into the dirt.

His eyes close.

* * *

He opens his eyes a chink, a bright sheen across them, ears ringing.

The great, hulking frame of the Destroyer looms over him. Its face opens up, the metal peeling away, revealing the flame underneath, and Anthony’s blood beats hot under his skin, the fear and hurt cinching his throat shut.

_Loki, oh, Loki, why?_

His hand grips the hilt of his sword, but he knows it won’t be enough, _he_ won’t be enough.

He meets his death with his eyes open.

“Brother!”

_No._

Anthony turns his head, to find Thor, striding down the street towards the behemoth, mortal and so defenceless.

_No._

“Brother… for whatever I have done to wrong you, whatever I have done to lead you to do this, I am sorry. But these people have done nothing to you. They are innocents.” He continues towards the Destroyer. “Leave Anthony be. He loves you perhaps more than I ever loved you. He has not been faithless, not as you think he has, and he still loves you so. Spare him, for love of him, if not for love of me. Take _my_ life, and know I will never return to Asgard.”

“No,” Anthony grunts, hand scraping against the gravel. “No, Thor!”

Thor reaches the Destroyer, extending his arms.

The Destroyer hesitates, sizing up Thor, so weak, and for a brief moment, Anthony thinks Loki’s mercy has won out and he sends a prayer above, to Odin, to the Norns, anyone listening.

But then, as it had Anthony, it swats Thor with its enormous arm, with a sickening crack as Thor’s bones break and he goes flying.

Anthony screams.

Thor lands in a crumpled, broken heap some leagues from the Destroyer, and Anthony crawls painstakingly over to him. Anthony touches his face, sobs when he sees nothing but death, feels nothing but Thor’s lifeblood leaving him.

The Destroyer looms over them.

Anthony thinks this right, to die like this, with Thor, as he should.

He waits, for the fire, for the heat, for the pain, for the end, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, lightning strikes down from above, colliding with the Destroyer’s blast.

Anthony only sees white.

When the dust clears, Thor is standing above him, in his armour, the colour of steel, in his cape, the colour of blood, with Mjolnir in his hand, and Anthony laughs himself to tears.

Thor throws Mjolnir. It collides with a resounding _thunk_ , and the breath leaves Anthony’s lungs with a rush.

“Thor!” he shouts.

Thor turns back, his eyes fierce, jaw like stone.

“Pin him down!”

Thor flies at the Destroyer, slamming Mjolnir down onto its massive trunk, the indecipherable weight of the hammer bearing it down to the ground.

Anthony lunges forward, sword in hand, gleaming in the bright of the sun, and takes its head, metal slicing through metal like fleshy pomegranate, all fire dying.

Thor grips Mjolnir off the scrap of metal that is left of the Destroyer, and grapples for Anthony, pulling him to his feet. Anthony tucks his face against Thor’s neck, smells the shining sweat on his throat, blood and something smoking, hand tangled in his.

A Midgardian approaches them, battered and rigid.

“Donald... I don't think you've been completely honest with me.”

* * *

They stand in the desert.

Thor stares up at the clear sky, the gleaming sun. “Heimdall! Open the Bifrost!” he calls out.

The sky remains untouched by the fury of the Bifrost.

Thor looks to him with concern. “He would open it if he could. I fear the worst.”

Anthony licks his dry mouth. “Loki would not stand someone faithless to him. He would have taken Heimdall as a traitor,” he says, dully, unable to stomach the idea of what his truest friend had become.

“Then we’re trapped here forever,” Volstagg says, mournfully.

Fandral sighs. “Then I suppose we'd best start settling into our new lives.” He looks to Darcy, his smile growing. “Are all earth maidens as fair as you?”

Darcy seems to enjoy the attention. “No,” she declares, coyly.

“Heimdall!” Thor shouts again, peering upwards.

Suddenly, the Bifrost careens down from the sky, and Anthony breathes a sigh of relief, fingers clenching around Thor’s.

Fandral turns to Darcy. “Sorry, my love. These things happen,” he says, fond and rueful.

Thor turns to the Midgardian that had approached them after the Destroyer had been slain.

“Know this, son of Coul. You and I, we fight for the same cause, the protection of this world. From this day forward, count me as your ally,” he pauses heavily. “ _If_ you return the items you have stolen from Jane Foster.”

“Not stolen,” Son of Coul corrects. “Borrowed.”

Jane shoots him a baleful look, clearly misliking the distinction.

“You'll get your equipment back,” Son of Coul quickly reassures. “You're going to need it to continue your research... which, after today's events, SHIELD would like to fully sponsor. If that's all right with you.”

Thor reaches for Jane, taking her hand and kissing it tenderly. “I thank you, my lady, for the aid and kindness you have shown me. I know that we shall meet again.”

Jane smiles, tremulously, up at him, dark eyes shining with fear.

Anthony understands. Thor is easily to concern one’s self over.

Thor turns to him, thumb running over Anthony’s pulse in his wrist, and then, they leap into the Bifrost, letting the world around them fall away.

* * *

Thor and Loki go to war against each other, and it is a brief war.

In the end, Loki thinks to kill his brother, until Anthony intervenes, pleading for the trickster to stay his hand.

Loki falters, and it’s enough for Thor to let loose Mjolnir, pinning him down to the Bifrost so that he can’t move.

When Thor stands, bleeding heavily from the wound in his chest, he stares down at his once brother, now traitor, and hangs his head, stumbling away, leaving Anthony alone with Loki.

“I don’t understand,” he says, thinly.

Loki holds his dignity close and doesn’t struggle against the hammer’s indomitable hold.

“You wouldn’t. You couldn’t,” he tells Anthony, almost kindly.

“Why?” Anthony makes a demand of it.

“Some princes don’t become kings, Anthony,” Loki reminds him, bitterly. “Sometimes, we forge our own path to the throne. Sometimes, we make ourselves kings.”

“At the expense of what?” Anthony asks, pinched thin. “The death of your father, of your brother, the Frost Giants. You want to rule over bones, is that it? What sort of rule is that?”

Loki sneers, a blind, hungry, cruel thing that makes Anthony’s stomach twist.

“Spoken like a man born to be a whore to a lackwit prince and not much else.”

Anthony reels back but refuses to let Loki see how much he’s wounded him. Had it been someone else, he might have struck them.

He leaves Loki lying there for Odin’s justice and wonders if Loki had ever loved him like he was loved by Anthony.

 _It matters not_ , Anthony thinks. _Thor loves me. Thor loves me like no other. Thor thinks me brave and fierce and clever, a great warrior and a master smith. He thinks my work art. What is Loki and his bile against that?_

Even so, he will bear the mark of Loki’s betrayal for many, many years, so what is Thor and his love against the fool that Loki has made him?


End file.
